


Tearing at the Seams

by Leloi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 1895, Dream Sex, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:13:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leloi/pseuds/Leloi
Summary: Sherlock Holmes woke up in the year 1895.  Sherlock knew it was 1895 because he had woken there before.  Of course then he had been high as a kite and nearly overdosed to get there.  This time he was quite certain that he woke up in 1895 purely by accident.





	Tearing at the Seams

Sherlock Holmes woke up in the year 1895. Sherlock knew it was 1895 because he had woken there before. Of course then he had been high as a kite and nearly overdosed to get there. This time he was quite certain that he woke up in 1895 purely by accident. 

John Watson was there as he had been before. But this Watson no longer lived apart from Sherlock of 1895. There was a sad story there. Something haunted Watson’s eyes and he did not speak of what tragedy had brought him back to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock suspected that like with his own John, this John suffered from bereavement. 

There was no Rosie Watson. Whether or not she existed in this reality, Sherlock could not tell. But neither she nor Mary made an appearance to tempt Watson away. Watson seemed content to stay in Sherlock’s rooms without mentioning either of them.

Something had changed from the last time Sherlock had been to 1895. Watson seemed to think Sherlock was suffering from hysteria. 

It was on his first night back from the future when he finally went to bed. Watson entered the bedroom and looked Sherlock over from head to foot as he stood in his night shirt. “Do you again need assistance tonight?”

Sherlock had no idea what Watson meant. But not wanting to appear ignorant of whatever nightly ritual they seemed to have developed, he agreed. 

Watson indicated the bed and Sherlock sat down upon it. Watson sat beside him and caught the hem of Sherlock’s night shirt. Quickly he pulled it up to reveal Sherlock’s naked cock. 

Sherlock cried out in surprise, causing Watson to frown in puzzlement. “Sorry… Err… It is a little chilly.”

Watson pulled out his handkerchief and used it in his right hand to cover the tip. His left hand wrapped around the detective’s cock.

Sherlock shivered at the wonderful sensation of John Watson slowly and confidently stroking him. It was something that Sherlock never imagined his own John would attempt. What had happened to the 1895 version of John Watson that he had entered into such a relationship with his Sherlock Holmes? 

“You are not concentrating on the sensation.” Watson broke into Sherlock’s thoughts. 

“Sorry.” Sherlock answered, not because he was sorry, but because it was habit with his own John. Watson’s hand felt divine. There was very little technique to it, but the novelty of it helped Sherlock focus on the sensation. Vaguely he wondered if it would feel the same if his own John Watson did the same to him. Thinking of his own John Watson helped and too soon he was moving his hips to counter Watson’s strokes. 

“That is it… You are almost there.” Watson commented from where he sat as if the whole thing was nothing more than a medical exam. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and felt his body fall over the edge. For a brief, breathless moment he was highly aware of Watson’s hand squeezing him while his other hand caught Sherlock’s semen in the handkerchief. 

“There you go. Deep, cleansing breaths.” Watson murmured as he kept his handkerchief in place. “Relax.”

Sherlock slouched back on the bed, thoroughly exhausted. This was one of the reasons he never engaged in masturbation unless he absolutely had to. It always wiped him out.

Watson finally stood up and stepped away from the bed. “Goodnight, Holmes. Pleasant dreams.”

Sherlock grunted, too tired to even form a coherent reply. “Night,” he managed. What had his 1895 counterpart gotten himself into?

^.~

The next few days were filled with a case. Sherlock worked on them as if he was back in his own century. The work was intriguing. On the second day the case was over and Sherlock found himself in his sitting room with Watson sitting on the settee, reading the newspaper. 

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh as the rush from the hunt drained from him. 

Watson looked up from his newspaper and caught Sherlock in his sight. Then his eyes went to the clock on the mantel. “It is getting late.”

“It is not too late. We have only just had dinner.” Sherlock answered.

“Perhaps you should take a bath and go to bed.” Watson suggested.

“Bath and bed?” Sherlock echoed.

“You have spent the past two days running around in the cold and the muck. It would be pleasant to wash all that grime off of you and make it an early night.” Watson reasoned.

Sherlock nodded in agreement, only because he did not want to alert Watson that he was not the Holmes he thought he was. “Very well.”

“After your bath will you be requiring assistance?”

Sherlock paused as he stood up from his chair. “Assistance tonight in falling asleep? I might as well.”

“Very well. I will be in after your bath.” Watson replied as he returned to his newspaper.

Sherlock went into the bathroom, finding only a tub. It was pleasant to spend time in the hot water, allowing the grime and the chill to wash away. Emerging from the tub, he found a serviceable flannel to dry himself off with. His dressing gown covered him as he made his way into his bedroom and sat down upon the bed, curls still damp.

The door to the bedroom opened and Watson stepped in. Carefully he closed the door behind him and approached the bed. “Do you want to put on your night shirt first?”

“No. I think I will just wear my dressing gown.” Sherlock answered. 

Watson sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to grasp Sherlock’s cock in his hand. “You did well today.” Watson stated with a smile as his hand moved to stroke Sherlock in his grasp.

“Thank you, Watson.” Sherlock answered and lowered his body on the bed. 

Watson pulled out a handkerchief and held it against Sherlock’s tip as he stroked the organ over and over again. “Relax. Deep breaths. Just let it happen.” 

Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling the pressure built. Finally it was too much and he ejaculated. “Watson… Why do we do this?”

“Do you not know?” Watson asked, waiting for Sherlock’s penis to finish.

“I know. I just want to hear you say it.”

“I am treating your hysteria.”

“Hysteria?” Sherlock queried. Somewhere in his mind palace he knew it was an affliction that women were supposed to suffer from in the early history of women’s biology. Of course the experts had been wrong. But that did not explain why he was diagnosed with it.

“Yes, hysteria.” Watson answered. “Now go to sleep. I will see you in the morning.” Getting up, he left the room. 

Sherlock did as he was told and soon he was fast asleep.

^.~

The next day was another case which was quickly solved. Sherlock spent most of the day fiddling with his counterpart’s ancient collection of laboratory equipment, trying to make it work. None of it was as refined as his own collection in the 21st century. 

Watson read a medical tome and paid very little attention to Sherlock until evening.

Like clockwork they retired to Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock changed into his night shirt. As he lay on the bed Watson sat down on the edge. But Sherlock had something else in mind for that night. As Watson reached down to take Sherlock in hand, Sherlock reached out to touch Watson’s crotch, finding him to be hard.

Watson reacted poorly. With a cry of surprise he stood up and took a step away from the bed. “What do you think you are doing?” Watson demanded.

“I was checking to see if you had need of reciprocation.” Sherlock answered. “I think you do.”

“Holmes, this is a medical procedure. I take no pleasure from it. This is purely for your benefit, not mine.” Watson stated rather crossly.

“How do you know you do not take any benefit from it?” Sherlock challenged. 

“I just do! Goodnight, Holmes!” And with that he was out the door.

Sherlock found it very difficult to fall asleep that night. Whether it was because Watson was cross with him or that he had become used to their nightly activities, he was not sure. But he vowed that the next time Watson approached him he would not try and reciprocate. 

Eventually he did fall asleep and his dreams were filled with his own John Watson. “I’m not gay,” his John stated as he walked away, leaving Sherlock bereft. When Sherlock woke he resolved to just let 1895 Watson do what he wanted without any interference.

^.~

Two nights passed without Watson entering Sherlock’s bedroom. Both nights Sherlock found it difficult to fall asleep. A variety of positions were tried along with sleeping in the nude. The chill of the room on his skin did nothing to ease him into sleep. During the day he was irritable and cross with everyone and everything.

On the third night Sherlock took off his clothes and lay sprawled on the bed when there was a tentative knock at the door. “Come in.”

Watson entered the room, keeping his eyes on the floor. “I am sorry, Holmes. I did not mean to snap at you like that. Your hysteria has gotten worse, has it not?”

“It does not matter. Go away.” Sherlock answered, rolling onto his side and away from Watson.

“No, Holmes. I am sorry.” Watson sat on the edge of the bed. “If it will help you, you may touch me.”

Sherlock looked back over his shoulder at the contrite doctor. “You cannot be serious.”

“It would hardly be my first.” Watson admitted. “I was once a schoolboy…” And then he trailed off. “That does not matter. You may touch me. I will not leave you again.”

Sherlock placed a hand on the bulge at Watson’s crotch. Watson gave a soft grunt. “There, there.” Sherlock soothed. “You will not come to any harm.”

Watson bit his lip in a way that Sherlock found endearing… Even with the mustache. Watson’s hand reached out to touch Sherlock’s cock, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Briefly Sherlock wondered how easily he could seduce this John Watson. Already the doctor was hard. It would be rather easy to do something to cause him to fall over the edge. Perhaps if he started with a kiss…?

Watson shut his eyes and turned his head away from Sherlock as if he anticipated what the detective wanted to do to him.

“I love you.” The words came out without him meaning to say them. 

Watson pulled his hand away and gently pushed Sherlock’s hand away from his crotch. “Do not say such things.”

“What things?” Sherlock asked.

“You would use sentiment against me.” Watson answered. “This is not the arrangement we made back when I offered to treat your hysteria. I can understand your desire to touch. I acknowledge your need to not be alone while you take relief. But sentiment goes too far.” 

“But why is that such a bad thing?” Sherlock asked. “Surely you have urges that need relief.”

“It makes this too real. I could not resist you if things went too far.” Watson admitted.

“Then do not resist me.” Sherlock murmured as he leaned in to kiss Watson’s shoulder. It was where Watson had been struck by a bullet back in his military days. 

“Holmes…” Watson whispered.

“Arrangements can change.” Sherlock assured him. 

“Holmes, what is it you want from me?” 

Sherlock briefly drew a blank. What was his desire? Did he really want to experiment on how quickly he could escalate the situation so Watson shared his bed? Or was there something else there? Perhaps it was a need for a deeper connection between them. At the very least he knew he did not want the cold, medical procedure. If there was to be touching, it had to excite both of them. Or neither.

“Holmes?”

“I want you.” Sherlock admitted. His hand reached out to caress the juncture of Watson’s legs, feeling the erection under his trousers. It was reassuring to know that at least Watson’s body wanted the connection. “Do you want me?”

Watson mutely nodded, his eyes closed. 

Sherlock smiled and adjusted his position so he was standing beside the bed between Watson’s open knees. Gently he leaned down to kiss those lips. The mustache was rough against his lip and for a moment he wished that Watson was clean shaven. Deepening the kiss, he pushed Watson back onto the bed, hands desperately trying to undo all the buttons. Curse Victorian undergarments! And, of course, Watson was wearing combinations under his shirt and trousers. Sherlock made a soft moan of complaint against Watson’s lips.

With a gentle push, Watson managed to deposit Sherlock onto the bed beside him. It broke the kiss and he stared at the man, chewing on his bottom lip. His hair was disheveled and his shirt open to reveal his undergarment. 

Sherlock adjusted himself on the bed so his legs were no longer hanging off the edge. His hand reached out to run his fingers through Watson’s hair. “Come here.”

Watson shook his head. “Mrs. Hudson may hear us.”

“I will be quiet.” Sherlock promised.

“You can barely stay silent when I administer to your need. I can only imagine the sounds you will make when you are actually… Buggering.”

Sherlock deflated, suddenly feeling rather foolish and exposed. 

Watson’s critical eyes softened and he crawled onto the bed to lay beside Sherlock. His hand reached out and took Sherlock’s cock, gently stroking it. “If I am caught it will be gaol for both of us.” Almost reverently he kissed Sherlock’s lips. “I will not risk it.” His hand continued to move. 

When Sherlock moaned Watson pressed their lips together in a kiss. It lasted for only a few minutes before Sherlock expelled. On his back he panted for breath. “You will not risk it. So we will never… Bugger?” The thought disappointed him. 

“I did not say that.” Watson answered as he wiped his hand on his handkerchief. “I will not give in to your seduction while we may be discovered by our landlady. Should she go out, then perhaps...” 

“You will have me?” 

“I will have you begging for mercy.” Watson smirked.

It pleased Sherlock to hear Watson say such things. That night he went to sleep, relaxed from his treatment. Sherlock fell asleep in 1895 and woke up in 2019.

^.~

The room was dark. It was either very late or very early. From the child monitor he could hear Rosie’s breathing and occasional soft grunt. Beside him his boyfriend John snored. 

That was right. Sherlock had a boyfriend. Their relationship had deepened after Sherlock asked John to move back in with him several years before. Mary had hinted that they might become more to each other and it seemed she had been correct. Mary saw it before they did. Of course she did… Clever Mary. 

John and Sherlock were together as a couple, raising John’s daughter. The only thing they were missing was the physical intimacy. They just never spoke about it. Sherlock knew John must have cravings, but if he did he kept that to himself. Sure, they shared a bed. But it was used only for sleeping. 

No wonder Sherlock had a dream about Watson fulfilling his needs. Because Sherlock did have needs. There was that occasional need for release. The only problem was that he felt like it was cheating to take care of his needs by himself. And John never offered. If John did offer, would it be clinical like in the dream?

“John?” Sherlock queried his sleeping companion.

John stopped snoring and smacked his lips. “Hmm?”

“When will we engage in coitus?”

John grunted. “Wha?”

“Coitus, John. Buggering, physical relations, copulation.” Sherlock clarified. Buggering was not a term he would normally use, but he recalled it from his dream.

John grunted again and rolled over, facing away from Sherlock. “’S the middle of the night.”

“I am aware of that.” Sherlock answered. “Do you want to engage in coitus with me?”

“Right now?” John seemed to be a little more awake.

Sherlock took the position of the big spoon, arms around John’s waist, and his face behind John’s shoulder. “Yes, right now.” It came out as a purr. Really he wanted to hear what excuse John would make. A part of Sherlock knew that John would most likely turn him down. Their relationship was not physical. There were hugs and kisses, but nothing else.

John managed to roll over, facing Sherlock. “You woke me up in the middle of the night to ask for sex?”

“To be fair, first I asked when we would have sex.” 

“You want to have sex.” John stated for clarification. “You.”

“Should I be asking someone else?”

“God, no…” John answered, rubbing his face. “What do you want to do?”

For a moment Sherlock thought back on the clinical way Watson had stroked him. And this John was warm and sleepy, wearing very little clothing compared with his Victorian counterpart. Taking John’s hand, he placed it on his erection. Sherlock’s own hand dug into John’s pants, encountering a half aroused penis. John seemed to take the hint and pushed his own hand down Sherlock’s pants. For a time they awkwardly tried to stay out of each other’s way, but their hands were uncoordinated.

John grunted and pulled his hand out of Sherlock’s pants, opting instead to tug down the other man’s pajama bottoms and pants. Sherlock eagerly mirrored John’s solution, excited to find that John was fully aroused. With their penises exposed they rubbed against each other in an inelegant way, skin on skin.

Skin on skin was something Sherlock wanted in his dream. There was still too much clothing, but it was all easy to move aside and expose skin. Each tugged at the other’s clothing. John was the first to remove all his clothing. Sherlock helped him before allowing John to remove his own clothing. They lay naked, Sherlock on top of John, rutting and rubbing like horny teenagers who were not quite ready to go all the way. 

“I love you.” The words came out without Sherlock meaning to say them. 

John raised his head to catch Sherlock’s lips and for a time they kissed as they moved.

Sherlock was the first to ejaculate. His moans were swallowed up by John’s kiss. It took John a little more time to finish. They lay together, panting for breath. 

“Was that what you were expecting?” John asked.

It was and it was not. Sherlock lazily rolled off of his boyfriend, uncaring about the semen on their abdomens. “No.” 

“No?” John sat up and reached for a tissue to wipe them clean.

“Well, yes. And no.” Sherlock clarified. “I mean it was good. But…”

“But what?” John asked, tossing the tissue away.

“I really wanted you to be inside of me.” Sherlock stated.

John’s internal hard drive crashed and took a while to reboot.

“John?” Sherlock sat up, looking at his boyfriend in concern.

“You… You wanted…”

“Buggery. I think I mentioned that.” Sherlock stated. Seeing John’s shocked look, he shook his head. “It does not matter. We can try again later.” The detective did not bother with putting his clothes back on as he took his position in the bed.

John sat for a time, staring off into the distance before he came out of whatever trance he was under and lay down in the bed at Sherlock’s side.

“Goodnight.” Sherlock kissed John’s cheek and settled in for sleep.

“Goodnight…” John answered.

^.~

Sherlock was once again in 1895. But something had changed. Watson lay slumbering peacefully at his side. “Goodnight.” With a soft kiss to the other man’s temple he settled in bed. This time he had hope that there would be intimacy between them. 

\--Fin

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry I haven't written in such a long time. I have appreciated all the kudos. I received updates from AO3 in my email box every single day with at least one kudo! 
> 
> This story has been half written, hanging out on my hard drive for almost two years! I finally finished it. 
> 
> Title from Imagine Dragons "Bad Liar."


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